


Five Times Root Spent Christmas Alone (And One Time She Didn’t)

by EternallyEC



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baby Gay, F/F, Her Name is Root, Samantha having a crush on Hanna is so canon, Shoot Secret Santa, Shoot Secret Santa 2019, and i ran with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21985855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternallyEC/pseuds/EternallyEC
Summary: A series of vignettes exploring what Christmas was like for Samantha Groves and later Root. Written for Shoot Secret Santa 2019.
Relationships: Root/Sameen Shaw
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	Five Times Root Spent Christmas Alone (And One Time She Didn’t)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tarragonthedragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarragonthedragon/gifts).



> I was brainstorming ideas for what to write for this challenge when I joked that maybe I should write something like this because I've always wanted to play around with this format. Not long after I said it, I realized it wasn't a joke--the idea stuck in my head and grew firmer as the hours went on and I started writing! 
> 
> I wrote this over the course of about a week-and-a-half and let it sit for a bit before I went through and edited it all. I've been so excited to share this with you all because it's one of my favorite things I've ever written! Shoot Secret Santa was a ton of fun and definitely something I hope to participate in again!

**Five Times Root Spent Christmas Alone**

**(And One Time She Didn’t)**

I.

Samantha Groves was seven years old the first time she’d woken up on Christmas morning entirely alone in the small house she shared with her mother.

She hadn’t noticed at first; filled with excitement for the holiday, she had rushed out of bed and down the familiar hallway in just her socks and pajamas, nearly skidding into a wall as she hurtled around the corner into the living room.

Blinking slowly, Samantha looked around in confusion. The space under the Christmas tree was glaringly empty and her stocking hung limply from the wall where her mother had tacked it weeks before. Rubbing her eyes to get the sleep out and half-hoping it would change what she’d seen, she frowned when the room remained empty of gifts.

Taking a seat on the couch, Samantha solemnly stared at the Christmas tree with cold eyes, cataloging what she knew in her mind. Always a precocious child, she was well-aware that her mother wasn’t like other moms. She had always liked to hit and scream at Samantha for things she didn’t understand and over the past year, she had started to drink a funny-smelling liquid that had made her even meaner.

Still, for all of her mother’s flaws, Samantha had never woken up on Christmas morning without a single gift under the tree or in her stocking before and her jaw tightened as she resolved with bitter disappointment that it was better to never expect things of people and that Christmas was a stupid holiday anyway.

She spent the day taking down all of the decorations and the Christmas tree that seemed to mock her with the empty space beneath its’ branches every time she looked its’ way. Only fear of her mother’s punishment and knowing that she would be the one forced to clean up the mess kept Samantha from doing what she wanted and smashing every stupid, fragile ornament across the ground until the tree looked as empty as she felt.

When she’d finished, she retreated to her bedroom and lay back down on her bed. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the sloppily wrapped package from under her pillow and turned it over in her hands, a hollow feeling settling in the pit of her stomach as she stared at the name tag.

_To: Mom_

_Love: Samantha_

Her eyes stinging with tears that felt hot as they ran down her cheeks, she ripped open the present and glared at the picture frame that she had made herself during the little downtime she had between homework, keeping the house spotless and trying her best to take care of her mom. When Hanna’s family had taken her to Corpus Christi with them, Samantha had spent most of the precious few days combing the beach for the most beautiful shells in her mother’s favorite colors and, upon returning home, she had spent hours painstakingly decorating the frame so that none of the original frame could be seen for the shells.

Inside the frame was a photo of Samantha with her mother from the previous Christmas. Hanna had come over for Christmas dinner and she’d been the one to take the photo of the two of them. They were posing in front of the Christmas tree with her mother’s arms wrapped around her and beaming smiles on both of their faces. But what drew Samantha’s attention in the photo today was the pile of presents she could see scattered on the floor behind them and the reminder of the emptiness she’d awoken to today so filled her with rage that she _screamed_ ; a loud, primal sound that frightened her but also felt _good._

Pulling her arm back, Samantha gave in to the rage filling her body and threw the picture frame across the room as she could. She felt a thrill of satisfaction fill her only to be followed by a pang of regret that twisted in her stomach as she watched the frame shatter into pieces. Shells flew everywhere as all of her hard work came undone in an instant, but Samantha brushed away the thought and clung instead to the rage.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, she rested her chin on them and stared at the shattered remnants of her mother’s now-ruined Christmas present and tried to ignore everything she was feeling as she waited for the stupid day to be over with. She stayed in that position until the shadows enveloped the room and she finally deemed it late enough to go to bed.

Only after she had brushed her teeth and crawled back under the covers did she realize that her mother had never come home.

Although it wasn’t the first time that she’d left Samantha on her own overnight, she had never stayed gone for quite so long and it was with a sinking feeling in her chest that she thought that this was the start of something bad, something worse than she’d already been experiencing.

Samantha had no idea how right she was.

II.

After her first Christmas alone, Sam had never had to spend one in an empty house again. All she’d had to do was say one word to Hanna and her friend had made sure that she _always_ came to her house on Christmas and Hanna’s parents always made sure that she had presents and a stocking filled to the brim.

It was something that she’d never quite taken for granted but she’d certainly never thought that she would lose it.

But when Sam Groves woke up on her thirteenth Christmas, it was to a cold, empty house and an even colder realization that there would be no more Christmases with Hanna. The Freys could hardly even bear to look at her anymore and although she understood, it was just one more loss to add to her ever-growing collection; just one more reason for her to tell herself that it was better not to trust anyone and that way, she wouldn’t be disappointed when they eventually let her down.

Slowly climbing out of bed, Sam went to her window and silently gazed out. The sun was shining brightly and if not for the chill in the air, she might have been able to pretend that it was summer outside. For a moment, she desperately wished that she could pretend, that she could ignore this holiday altogether and pretend like it was any other day.

Stifling the pang in her chest, she sharply turned away from the window and sat down at her computer. Powering it on, her fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed in her password and then the code she’d written that allowed her to access the hard drive, having realized that she needed far more security for the activities she’d started to immerse herself in already.

Once she was in and connected to the internet through less-than-legal means, she pulled up Trent Russel’s bank account information and scrutinized it carefully. Though it had been mere months since Hanna had disappeared with him, Sam had grown impatient with the lack of movement to arrest the perpetrator and so she had resolved that she would have to handle the justice side of things herself.

She’d thought of the perfect plan, too. Unfortunately, she would need to wait a few years to make sure that it was perfect and that nothing could be traced back to her. But Sam was hardly a stranger to waiting; sometimes she felt as though she’d been waiting since the day she was born for the day when she would finally leave Bishop behind her forever. And nothing meant more to her than her new mission to get justice for Hanna; Sam knew that she would wait for as long as it took to make her plan foolproof and see Trent pay for what he’d done.

Growing restless and not finding anything new or noteworthy in Russel’s bank account, she exited the browser and shut down her computer before turning to look at the framed photo of her and Hanna on the desk. She couldn’t remember when it had been taken exactly, but it was her favorite. Hanna was all smiles, beautiful and outgoing and without a care in the world as she stood front and center in the photo. Meanwhile, Sam was hanging back and gazing at her in an awe that she still felt when she thought about the fact that someone like Hanna had seen fit to be friends with someone like Samantha Groves.

It was a perfect metaphor for their friendship and Sam swallowed, feeling tears stinging her eyes as she reached out to trace the glass covering Hanna’s face as she silently vowed once more that she would do whatever was necessary to see that her death was avenged.

Years later, Samantha Groves would say that this was the moment that she’d become more Root than Sam.

After making her resolution, she’d gone downstairs and for once, she’d found the lack of decorations and presents to be a relief rather than a burden. Here, there were no reminders of Hanna or her favorite holiday that she’d made Root love just because of how happy it made her. There was no Christmas tree, her mother having given up on it long ago and Sam deeming it unnecessary since there were no gifts to put under it anyway.

Her house was as dark and empty and silent as it always was but for once, Sam found solace in it, finding the atmosphere soothing rather than stifling. Not even the sight of her mother’s beer bottles littering the floor surrounding the couch was enough to dampen her mood.

They may not have been perfect or even close to functional, but Sam was suddenly intensely grateful for the normalcy of everything in her life, no matter how fucked up. It stood in stark contrast to the way everything else in her life had spiraled so far out of her control and she took comfort in knowing that as much as everything else had changed, her mother and the way they lived likely never would.

Sam eyed the beer bottles and decided to clean, more so out of a restless need to _do_ something than actually wanting to clean a mess that would be back with a vengeance within moments of her mother’s eventual return. Grabbing a trash bag, she cleared the floor and coffee table of the bottles before wiping the table down with cleaner and a rag, having to make several passes before she got all of the sticky remnants of spilled alcohol off and leaving it almost shining.

She worked tirelessly throughout the day, moving from room to room and barely tracking the way the sun’s light moved through the house as the hours passed. Though she did her best to keep up with the cleaning, her mother often whirled through like a hurricane and left everything an even bigger mess along the way. The only room she didn’t go into was her mother’s; she’d learned her lesson long ago with a punch to the nose and a slurred warning to “keep her nose in her own business and stay the hell out”.

Sam almost shivered at the memory before she caught herself and scowled at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. That day had been one of too many that had blurred together, but it would always stick out to her regardless because it had been the first time she’d told Hanna the truth when she’d asked.

_They had been laying in the middle of a field somewhere in the middle of both their houses, a natural meeting point where both could ignore their home lives. Sam’s nose had bruised and swollen and when she’d seen Hanna’s gaze tick to it before she could help it, she’d felt a rush of fear followed by gratitude when Hanna forced her eyes back up and just asked her a question about something else._

_After nearly an hour of talking about everything and nothing at the same time, Hanna had rolled over to face her and she’d followed suit, giggling as Hanna reached over and plucked grass from her hair, twirling it in her fingers in front of Sam’s eyes._

_Grinning triumphantly at the sound of Sam’s giggle, a rare sound coming from her indeed and only ever coaxed out by Hanna, her friend had tossed the grass down and leaned forward, very gently and deliberately pressing her lips to the very tip of Sam’s nose until she’d sucked in a shuddering breath._

“ _My mom did that,” Sam had whispered then, like she was revealing her darkest, most precious secret which, of course, she was. She’d steeled herself then, waited for Hanna to recoil from a girl whose own mother couldn’t tolerate her but when she was met only with silence, she slowly forced them back open to see Hanna staring at her with a sad, terrible kind of understanding that set her stomach twisting into knots._

_Without saying a word, Hanna slowly sat up and unbuttoned her shirt. Turning her back to Sam, she shrugged it off and the younger girl swallowed hard when she saw the bruises on her back. There were yellows and purples and greens and all that Sam could think about was that it looked like a modern art piece. “A Study In Fatherly Cruelty” she would later bitterly think whenever she caught a glimpse of Hanna’s colorful back, which would be more often now that she knew the Secret._

_But on this day, all that she could think of to do was to lean forward and very gently press her lips to the bruise in the middle of Hanna’s back and she smiled against her skin when she felt her friend shiver but lean back into it. She knew what it was like to be touched with tenderness after being met only with violence for so long and she marveled at the trust between them, that Hanna would allow her to see her, to touch her while she was like this and she resolved to do it as often as she could._

Six months later, Hanna and Sam were at the library when Sam watched her climb into Trent Russel’s car and leave and she’d always regret that she’d had such a short period of time to keep her promise.

With a sigh, Sam shook her head and retreated to her room when she heard the sound of her mother’s car pulling up, the broken muffler making an awful racket and giving her plenty of warning. She hurriedly locked her door and turned her light off, crawling into bed and trying not to breathe as she heard her mother stomp through the house, her heart thumping loudly in her chest as she waited to see what kind of a night it would be.

Exhaustion slowly began to overtake her as she lay there listening, the sound of her name mercifully absent and as she rolled over to contemplate actually sleeping, she was surprised and relieved to see that it was well past midnight.

One Christmas down, only an unknown number to go, she thought ruefully as she closed her eyes and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

III.

Root sat silently on the couch, black-painted fingernails drumming on the arm as she watched the clock tick down to midnight. She could almost feel the seconds slipping by as she followed the countdown to the last Christmas she would ever spend in this house that was so haunted by memories, both good and bad and all the in-between.

Somehow, it was fitting that her mother had chosen to die on Christmas Eve. Even in Bishop, Texas, a town so small that doctors still made house calls, holidays were still a sacred thing and although she’d been able to arrange for her mother’s body to be picked up, it would be December 26th before anything could even start to be arranged and Root knew it would be at least a week before she could finally leave and start the life she’d been planning to live for so long now.

She took a small sip of the wine as the clock finally ticked past midnight, grimacing in distaste before holding the glass up in the dark emptiness of the living room. A manic smile was painted on her lips as she chuckled, a dark and ominous laugh that no one was around to hear.

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” Root smirked, draining the glass despite the bitterness and setting it back down before unfolding her long legs from underneath her and making her way up the stairs.

Although it had been years since Root had spent Christmas with another person, it somehow felt different when she awoke the next morning with the knowledge that she was truly alone in the world now, that her mother wouldn’t ever stumble in the front door blind drunk and looking for a target ever again.

Looking around her childhood bedroom, Root felt an odd sense of loss as she realized that one day soon, she’d walk out of there and never return. Though the house had never felt like a home to her, there was something different about her bedroom with its’ many memories and it having been the only retreat she’d ever had.

She wondered what it would feel like in her new existence, living in different places as often as she knew she would. She wouldn’t have time to memorize the chips in the paint, the way a former leak in the roof had left a dark stain on the ceiling. There wouldn’t be memories hidden in every corner, either.

Sometimes, Root would glance at a certain spot in her room and be frozen by a memory that would play in front of her eyes like a movie, only a thousand times more _real_. Hanna, painting Root’s nails black for the first time and starting a tradition that she’d carried on in her name ever since her death. The wall where she’d so long ago flung the Christmas present she’d worked so hard on for her mother, shattering it and her ability to trust along with it.

And on the very bed where she now sat, knees hugged to her chest and arms wrapped around them, she could almost feel Hanna’s arms wrap around her. She could almost smell the cloying scent of the perfume Root had never had the heart to tell her didn’t suit her; almost feel the soft, hesitant feeling of Hanna’s lips pressed against hers in what had been both of their very first kiss.

It had been days before Hanna had been killed and even years later, the timing of it made her heart ache. She’d always had feelings for Hanna, always known that she was different from the other girls who were even then starting to show signs of being boy-crazy. It’d never been a secret she had shared with Hanna and somehow, that had made the unexpected kiss all the sweeter. Her chest had felt warm and tingly and her entire body had thrummed with the knowledge that Hanna had taken a chance just because she’d wanted to kiss Sam, not because she knew that Sam wanted it.

Sometimes, Root caught herself wondering at what might have been if she’d asked Hanna to come over that night at the library, caught herself wondering how different she would be if Hanna had never died.

And really, that was the word for it that Root alone seemed willing to use. “Disappearance” was bandied about like nobody’s business, but nobody seemed willing to admit the truth of the matter. Even now, after seven years and getting justice for Hanna all by herself, Root still felt a rage blacker than anything she’d ever known fill her when she thought about it.

It was a rage and a grief that she felt most prominently on two days out of the year: the anniversary of her death and on what had been Hanna’s favorite holiday that now felt so empty without her around to force Root into the spirit of it with her lame jokes and holiday specials with hot cocoa.

With a sigh, Root climbed out of bed and slowly made her way downstairs, feeling all the world like a ghost in a world that no longer belonged to her as she did. She started a pot of coffee and rummaged through the cupboards for breakfast, eventually settling on cinnamon toast because it was quick and would be easy on her stomach that was already all tied up in knots.

As she sipped the coffee and ate, Root mentally ran through her plan again. She’d been increasing her online presence lately and taking more and more jobs in preparation for this day, and her offshore, untraceable bank account was very well padded. She could go anywhere she liked and just enjoy herself for quite some time before she’d need to do another job, not that she’d take the opportunity.

No, Samantha Groves might have enjoyed a vacation, the kind she had once planned out with her best friend in the middle of a Texas field, but Samantha Groves was as good as dead and buried and would be as soon as she made it out of this godforsaken town and Root was left in her place. Root, the woman who’d spent years planning the perfect murder in order to get justice for that same best friend who’d been taken away far too young and long before Samantha Groves was ready to lose her. Root was an adrenaline junkie who loved proving her superiority over everyone and only took on the most challenging jobs almost solely to prove that she _could._

Root would dive even more into work once she was out of Bishop, Texas and had left Samantha Groves behind forever. She didn’t know where she would end up once she left, but after a lifetime of unstable stability such as the home she’d shared with her mother, she was beyond ready for the excitement of moving from place to place, never staying anywhere for long.

She’d long ago learned that home meant nothing, not to her. Maybe once she’d believed differently, thought that she could have a home away from her house with Hanna’s family, but they’d eventually let her down too, never so much as speaking to her again after Hanna had disappeared, and she’d given up.

As she ate the last slice of toast and drained the rest of her coffee, Root’s gaze ticked over to the clock and she was relieved to see it was already early afternoon. The sooner that this holiday was over, the better as far as she was concerned and as she washed her dishes in the sink, she tried to pretend that the grief wasn’t settling in her chest like a cold, hard weight making it difficult for her to breathe.

It was a weight that she knew she’d carry with her for the rest of her life. Root wasn’t naive enough to think that leaving Bishop in her rear-view would be enough to dissolve it and frankly, she wouldn’t have it even if it would. The pain and the grief were markers of Hanna’s short life; they were proof that she’d been here and that she’d _mattered_ to someone, to Root, and she wouldn’t trade that for any relief in the world.

Frowning when she heard the house phone ringing, Root dried her hands on the hand towel beside the sink and went to answer it, automatically rolling her eyes at the voice on the other end of the line. It was a so-called ‘sympathetic’ neighbor, the kind who called under the guise of being neighborly and polite but was just hoping to get a scoop to pass along the gossip hotline that buzzed all around Bishop as it did in every small town. She kept her tone cordial and chose her words carefully, enduring the conversation more than holding it until she could finally get them off the phone.

Rolling her eyes, Root reminded herself that it was almost over. She wouldn’t have to play their stupid games for much longer and then she could make her escape, leave Bishop and all of its’ nosy, gossiping residents behind her forever. She just had to bide her time until then, make sure that no one would be interested enough to wonder about Samantha Groves once she was gone.

Frowning as she glanced up at the clock to see that barely an hour had passed, Root huffed and tried to think of a way to wait out the annoying, painful holiday that she wished she could just erase from existence.

Pulling out her laptop, she decided to do some work on the virus she’d been contemplating for a while. Although trolling some geeks on online forums with a gibberish code that meant nothing but amused her to watch them scramble to find some meaning in was a fun way to pass the time, Root had bigger plans than that.

Much, much bigger.

By the time she was pulled to look at the clock again with eyes that were burning from being locked on the computer screen for so long, Root wasn’t too surprised to see that it was long past midnight now and the dreaded holiday had ended.

More importantly than that, however, her virus was coming along quite nicely and although it would be a few years yet before she decided to unleash it, the devastation it would cause was already slumbering between the lines of code, just waiting for an opportunity much like Root had always been slumbering inside of Samantha Groves, just waiting for a crack to slither through that had come when Hanna had been killed.

She’d infected Sam like a virus of her own making and Sam had been happy to let her. Root was everything Sam wasn’t: bold, confident, unafraid, _free_. She took the things Sam had long dreamed of and made them into reality through her sheer force of will and lack of caring about the consequences. She was all too happy to become Root and she knew that once she left Bishop, Samantha Groves would be as good as dead and buried and she couldn’t wait.

And as Root fell into her bed that night and said farewell to her last Christmas alone in this miserable house, she thought she could feel Sam’s excitement mingling with her own at the prospect of getting out of this town.

For the first time, Root fell asleep on Christmas Day without having shed a single tear or cried out in rage one single time and she considered that quite an accomplishment.

IV.

If it wasn’t for the Machine using a streetlight outside the window of her cage, Root would never have even known it was Christmas.

She’d long ago lost track of time in here, not that it mattered all that much. She would have stayed in Harry’s little cage for as long as it took for him to realize that neither she nor his creation, her God, would do anything to hurt anyone. But time was a luxury that they didn’t have and though she knew her constant prodding and attempts to get through to Harold weren’t exactly helping, she also knew that she _had_ to make him see that.

She pursed her lips as she considered the date and wondered if Harry and the others would be in today or if even two ex-assassins and the man who’d created God Herself celebrated Christmas.

Her lips curled up in a smirk as she tried to imagine Sameen in a Christmas setting, a scowl on her face and an itchy trigger finger on her gun as she tried to blend into the merry setting. Of course, the fantasy ended as soon as it had begun when she realized that she was being ridiculous. She’d seen Shaw’s file, after all; Sameen Shaw was, for all intents and purposes, dead and her mother had died not long after receiving the news.

Even if Shaw _did_ happen to celebrate Christmas, she had no one left to celebrate it with and the thought made pain flare up in her chest, the connection she already felt to the Persian seeming to strengthen with the realization.

With a sigh, Root glanced out the window again but the Machine was silent, seemingly only having wanted to fill her in on the date for whatever reason. Root wished that she could ask her why she’d thought it important, wished that she could speak to Her to pass the time today. But seeing as how that was impossible, she busied herself wondering how she should fill her day today, frowning at the books that surrounded her that she’d already finished.

She would have given anything for a computer in that moment, her fingers practically itching for the familiar feel of a keyboard beneath them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone so long without access to a computer before, but she thought it might have been before Hanna. It had been far too long at any rate, and Root had taken to writing codes out by hand a few days ago just to relieve the itch. She wondered if this is what withdrawal felt like, if she was experiencing the things addicts always did and laughed at the thought.

Addiction _did_ run in her genetics after all.

The hours seemed to tick by endlessly as Root sat on her makeshift bed and watched, tracking the sun’s progress across the sky and trying to ignore the hunger pangs in her belly. It would appear that Harry and the kids _did_ take the holiday off and really, she shouldn’t have been surprised that they’d forgotten about her, the unwanted prisoner that none of them knew what to do with.

Reese wanted to kill her, she knew; hadn’t he threatened as much when she’d called to thank him for finding Hanna, ensuring that she would get a proper burial and finally exposing the truth of her death?

Harold was a bit trickier to suss out, but she suspected that he just didn’t have a clue because she scared him as much as the Machine did. Her willingness to follow any order her God gave her was clearly terrifying to him and no amount of explaining that She had _kept_ her in the asylum to learn how to be a better person would convince him otherwise. She was pretty sure that Harry would keep her in this cage for as long as he possibly could just so that he wouldn’t have to make a decision.

And as for Shaw… She couldn’t help but smile again at the thought of the intriguing woman. They’d had _quite_ the first encounter, with Root posing as Veronica before the real woman had roused Shaw’s suspicions. But things had only grown more enticing after that and Root often wondered about where things might have gone if they hadn’t come for the real Veronica and their intimate encounter with the iron had gone beyond a mere threat. She’d longed to hear the hiss of the iron against Shaw’s flesh, to leave a mark on her that would always be _Root’s_ and no one else’s and it was a shame that they’d been so rudely interrupted.

Of course, there was the fact that Shaw had shot her in the weakest moment of her life, but she’d also dug the bullet out of her in the car on the way to the asylum afterward and they’d had a quite _enjoyable_ experience together that night in the CIA safe-house.

Shaw was a wild card, pure and simple, but Root didn’t think she wanted her dead. If anything, Root rather suspected that Shaw would be the one to eventually crack and let her out if the right circumstances presented themselves as she knew they one day would.

She just hoped that it wouldn’t be too late by then.

Shaking her head, Root turned to stare out the window again, trying to pretend that it didn’t hurt to spend another Christmas alone. She hadn’t been dreading the holiday this year, actually, having been curious to know what the Machine thought of it and being happy with the thought of having Her in her ear to distract her from things.

She really should have known better than to think that things would ever work out for her in regards to the holiday, though. Somehow she felt even lonelier now that she knew what it was like to have the Machine as her constant companion and she wished once again that she could speak to Her about anything.

But wishing was useless, she told herself as she shifted on the uncomfortable bench that doubled as her bed and studied her nails. She was locked in this cage for the foreseeable future and that was that. Even if she could leave, she knew that she wouldn’t. Harold’s cooperation was integral to stopping whatever She saw coming and Root knew that he would never agree if she gave him any more reason not to trust her. And, of course, there was the other reason, the one that Root was incapable of expressing even to herself.

From the first time she’d gotten a glimpse of Harold, Root had known that she’d met her match. The brief glimpse that she’d gotten into his network had been breathtaking, elegant even. The way he coded was a work of art and when she’d gotten the briefest of hints about the Machine…

Harold had created God and for that alone but for so many more reasons, Root would do anything he asked if it meant that one day, they could perhaps be colleagues or maybe even friends.

Pulled from her musings by a flickering of the streetlight, Root smiled softly as the Machine spoke to her, informing her that it was after midnight and yet another Christmas had passed.

V.

After Hanna had died, Samantha Groves had thought that Christmas couldn’t possibly get any worse, get any harder for a lone little girl with nobody left in the world that she could count on.

She’d been wrong, and Root blamed the little bit of Sam Groves who still existed beneath her skin for the fact that she couldn’t sleep for the bitter ice that seemed to fill her veins as she stared out of the window of Sameen’s former apartment and wondered what the hell she was supposed to do with this fucking holiday this year.

Years ago, she’d thought the worst possible pain had been inflicted on her when she’d watched the only person in the world who gave a damn about her climb into a car and she hadn’t said a word. She’d long-blamed herself for Hanna’s death, for not listening to her gut and intervening but just watching in numb silence as Hanna was led to her death like a lamb to the slaughter and Sam Groves the only witness, the one nobody would believe.

She’d been so very wrong about that.

When Sameen had pulled her into a bruising kiss, gripping her arms so tight that she’d had bruises for days (but not long enough, never long enough), her heart had soared and despite everything, she hadn’t been able to keep her wits about her enough to realize what Shaw meant to do until she was being hurtled backwards into arms that captured her and _held her and why wouldn’t they let her go?!_

For the second time in her life, Root had been forced to watch as someone she loved was taken away from her and once again, she hadn’t been able to move until it was too late. She’d managed to free herself from the grip of whoever had been holding her, but the gate was already down and though she clung to it as though she’d rip it down if she could, she’d known that it was fruitless and she’d _screamed_ as she’d watched the bullets slam into Sameen’s chest.

The sounds coming from her were hardly human and she could barely recognize them as her own as she beat at the bars and clung to them in turn, trying to get to Sameen as she went down and Martine approached, the doors slowly closing on the view of the blonde pointing her gun at Shaw’s head. It had been all too like watching Hanna climb into Russel’s car but never knowing what had happened to her.

Root shuddered and stared at the drink in her hand, wondering when it had gotten there but deciding not to question it as she tossed it back. It burned going down but Root welcomed the pain, knowing that she deserved it for her many sins.

For all her trying, the Machine refused to give Root any information about Sameen either, and _that_ was a betrayal that she simply couldn’t take. She had spent so much of her life longing for something that made sense to her the way that the Machine had and for her to turn on her now… She tilted the glass upward, draining the last of it.

She’d thought the silence was unbearable before, but now the Machine _never_ spoke to her and her implant was always impossibly silent. She knew she was being punished for ignoring the Machine’s order to stop looking for Shaw but frankly, Root didn’t _care._ She would do whatever it took to learn Sameen’s fate, Samaritan and the Machine be equally damned if She couldn’t respect that.

Sometimes, Root wondered if Harry had been right about Her all along, though it was _never_ something she would have spoken out loud. She’d once thought the Machine could love them, that she _did_ , but now she wasn’t so sure. How could She expect Root to live with herself if she didn’t devote herself to searching for Shaw? How could She abandon her at the time Root needed Her guidance the most if she really did care for them?

How could she abandon Sameen to Samaritan’s clutches after all of the good Sameen had done with them, _for_ them?

She swallowed hard, taking another punishing drink and frowning at her empty glass. She was getting to have a problem now, she knew. She remembered the signs well from her own mother, could see how she was following in her footsteps even now.

“Just one to take the edge off,” her mother had muttered on more than one occasion after going to a meeting she’d promised Sam she’d attend. “Just need one...”

The next morning, little Samantha Groves would wake up to her mother blacked out on the couch yet again, bottles and glass surrounding the couch and she’d sigh, knowing it was starting again.

Though she hadn’t quite reached the point of blacking out yet, Root was all too aware that she was drinking too much these days. She’d started to ache for it recently and she frowned as she tried to remember the last time that she’d gone a day without a single drink and realized that she couldn’t remember, it having become a constant companion to help her get through the night.

Somehow, that little reminder combined with the Christmas parade choosing that moment to take over the television was enough to fill Root with a new purpose. Switching the television off, she poured the bottle of Scotch down the sink and followed it up with every bottle she had in the house.

She hadn’t come all this way from Bishop, TX to an elite assassin to one of the good guys just to turn into her goddamn mother, she thought with a vengeance that suited her, that felt good. And she certainly wasn’t about to fail Sameen because she was too weak to survive without her, not when she knew that Shaw would have moved heaven and hell to get her back if their positions were reversed.

And somehow, she knew with all the certainty in the world that she _would_ get Sameen back. Although the Machine refused to tell her anything about Shaw’s condition, she knew it in the way that she’d always known her Christmases would be spent alone after Hanna. She knew it in the way that she could feel their connection still beating strong between them, as strong as Shaw’s heartbeat had felt against her the day that Sameen had kissed her and pushed her away to _save_ her, to save them.

She knew it as surely as she knew that her fucking name was Root and that she wouldn’t be taken down so easily, not when Sameen was out there waiting for her.

Her eyes narrowed and she took a deep breath, resolving to ignore the holiday as much as possible as she started to come up with a plan to force the Machine’s hand. She wasn’t sure yet when she would implement it, but just having a plan was good.

Even an acolyte as devoted as she had her limits, and she was about to teach the Machine a lesson of her own about pushing them.

VI

For the first time that she could remember, Root was home.

The war had been won and the surviving team had scattered in order to avoid the last of Decima as it slowly died out. Though far less dangerous without Samaritan’s all-seeing eye, none of them were foolish enough to think that their desperate death flail couldn’t be catastrophic if any of their agents found them.

Unfortunately for Root, that meant that she had been forced to say goodbye to Shaw again, less than a month after she had finally gotten her back. And although she took comfort in knowing that Sameen was safe, having spoken to her whenever the Machine could arrange a secure line for them, a part of her knew that she wouldn’t rest easy or consider the comfortable apartment a true home until Shaw was there with her.

Sighing softly, Root snuggled into her pillow and closed her eyes, but with a severe lack of action and the exhaustion left over from waging war on an ever-smartening artificial intelligence, she had slept more than her share and found herself wide awake despite her best efforts. Almost as though to taunt her, her neighbor chose that moment to turn their radio on at an ungodly high volume, blasting Christmas music straight through the wall and assaulting her good ear.

Taking the cue, Root climbed out of bed and headed into the living room. With a brief glance around the room, she realized that there was nothing to be done. The apartment was as clean as she could get it and there wasn’t even any of her usual clutter of electronics to be picked up. Pouting as she wondered about how she was going to get through this day, she sat down on the couch and studied the TV warily, wondering if it was even worth _trying_ to find something on that wasn’t the damn parade or a holiday movie.

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and Root frowned, immediately put on guard. Reaching under the couch, she withdrew the taser she had secured underneath it and slowly approached the door. The Machine’s lack of chatter made her feel somewhat at ease, knowing the amount of security cameras around the building but still, she knew that she couldn’t be too careful.

Root couldn’t help the broad smile that overcame her as she brought her eye to the peephole and saw who was waiting on the other side. Now, she understood the Machine’s silence more than ever and whispered a heartfelt thank you as she scrambled to unlock the door and pulled it open.

“Hey, sweetie,” she crooned, reaching out to caress Shaw’s shoulders as though to convince herself that she was really there. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

Shaw shifted from one foot to the other, looking almost nervous as she gave a jerky nod and tried to avoid Root’s gaze. “Yeah, well, I remembered what you told me about Christmas.” She managed to give Root a tight smile that spoke more to her discomfort than anything else could. “I didn’t want you to be alone today.”

Root swallowed, touched beyond measure by Shaw’s thoughtfulness but knowing that she wouldn’t appreciate her showing it. “Thank you,” she said softly anyway, reaching out and taking Shaw’s hand in hers so that she could pull her into the apartment.

As she’d predicted, the apartment immediately seemed to brighten with Shaw’s presence and Root felt like she could finally _breathe_ in it for the first time. She couldn’t help but beam at the smaller woman and the effect she had on her. “Home sweet home,” she mused, suddenly noticing the bags in Shaw’s hand and the delicious smell wafting from it. “Sameen, did you bring dinner?”

“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t have anything here,” Shaw snorted, and Root tried to look offended but failed miserably. She knew that they were both thinking about a night just a week after Shaw had come back home and Root had endeavored to make her dinner. The night had ended with the Machine rambling fire safety rules and statistics about their local fire station in her ear while Shaw used a kitchen chair to take the batteries out of all the smoke alarms in her apartment.

“Besides, you shouldn’t get too excited,” Shaw hurried to add, making Root suspect that she was worried she was about to get what Shaw had termed ‘gushy’ on her. “It’s just harissa, a chicken stew that we always had on Christmas growing up.” She frowned, and Root waited quietly, knowing that sharing things like this didn’t come easily to Shaw and not wanting to interrupt the rare moment. “It’s dumb.”

Root was already shaking her head and put a gentle hand on Shaw’s wrist as she smiled tenderly. “It’s not dumb, Sameen, and thank you,” she told her quietly, holding her gaze until she saw Shaw give her a small but genuine smile.

“You’re welcome,” she muttered, disappearing to the kitchen so that she could set things up. Root couldn’t help but smile again at how at home she already seemed and she tried to ignore the part of her that was wondering how long they had before they’d have to split up again.

“Are you coming or what?” Shaw demanded, re-appearing with a delicious smelling bowl, steam still rising from the contents as she stirred it absently.

“Yeah, I am,” Root assured her, giving her arm a gentle squeeze as she passed by her.

The harissa was as delicious as Root had expected and she found herself eating far more than usual. Between the two of them, they finished it off and Shaw gave her another smile when Root slipped her hand into hers and gave it a gentle squeeze again.

“Shaw...”

“I know,” she said softly, meeting Root’s gaze and making Root melt again at the understanding she saw there. Their eyes said everything for them and once again, Root was left to marvel at the way they didn’t need the words that both of them had always struggled with when it came to other people.

She knew that Shaw understood exactly what she was thanking her for; she’d told her the night before the final battle between themselves and Samaritan about Hanna, about her mother, about _Christmas_. She knew that was why Shaw had come over today, could still hear the words she’d whispered in the pitch black of night that had given her the strength.

“ _I’ve never had anyone on Christmas, not really. I’ve spent every one alone since Hanna died and sometimes, I’m scared that I always will.”_

Shaw’s arrival said far more than any words could ever convey and Root leaned forward to kiss her softly, the lingering taste of the harissa blending into the kiss in a way that just felt _right_ and made Root feel more than ever that she was finally home.

But as was their normal, the kiss didn’t stay soft for long and it was hours later before the pair were panting softly while lying in bed facing each other. It was, as far as Root was concerned, the _perfect_ way to spend Christmas but Shaw wasn’t quite finished yet.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she said bluntly, making Root giggle.

“That’s okay, I didn’t get you anything either, sweetie,” Root winked, lazily tracing patterns along Shaw’s back.

Shaw rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile at Root’s antics. “I didn’t get you anything because I want us to move in together,” she blurted out, refusing to meet Root’s gaze.

Root froze, staring at Shaw in shock and disbelief. Had Sameen “three nights” “I don’t do relationships” Shaw _really_ just asked if they could move in together?

Though Root had long ago accepted that she was the exception to Shaw’s every rule, something that had come far more easily ever since her return from Samaritan and willingness to admit that she cared for Root, she was still taken off guard. Her mind was whirling as she stared at Sameen, scrutinizing every detail of her expression and the way she’d offered.

“Do you really mean that, Shaw?” she asked softly, her voice small and vulnerable, far more Samantha than Root in that moment. “You’re not just saying it?”

Shaw sighed and met her gaze. “Yes, Root, I mean it. The Machine called me a few days ago to let me know that Decima’s gone and we’re safe. I asked Her not to tell you because I wanted to surprise you.”

Root could hear the unspoken words in her sentence: “ _and I didn’t want you to think that I only came over here and asked to move in because the danger passed and it seemed like the thing to do”_ and she couldn’t help but smile at the sentiment.

“Are you going to answer me or just keep smiling like an idiot?” Shaw grumbled, breaking Root’s trance and making her laugh.

“Of course I want us to live together, Sameen,” she said, pulling her into a kiss and feeling her relax against her. “Wait a minute,” she grinned, her eyes shining with glee. “Did you just say that you’re moving in as my Christmas present?”

“Root.”

“That’s so incredibly romantic of you, Sameen. Do you want to watch a Hallmark movie together? I can make hot cocoa and we could build a gingerbread house.”

“Root,” Shaw growled, but Root’s smile only grew more impish as she climbed out of bed and meandered into the living room, not even having to look behind her to know that Shaw would follow.

“Come on, Sameen,” she winked, settling in on the couch before flipping on the TV and scrolling through the channels. “Ooh! _It’s A Wonderful Life_ , that’s a classic.”

Shaw huffed in annoyance as she practically collapsed on the couch beside her and Root had to bite her lip to keep from laughing as she remembered that time years ago that she’d tried to envision Shaw surrounded by holiday festivities and how _close_ to perfect her imagination gotten her expression, if her current one was anything to go by.

“I’m not watching this crap,” she informed Root coolly, trying and failing to seem completely disinterested.

“That’s okay, it’s almost over anyway, sweetie,” Root winked, changing the channel again and finding the Rudolph special on. “Here we go, this one is even better!”

“I never understood this crap,” Shaw muttered, glaring at the television as the reindeer were bullying Rudolph. “What’s the lesson supposed to be anyway, bully someone so that they’ll feel indebted to prove themselves to you? It’s dumb.”

Root laughed and rolled her eyes, teasingly putting a finger over Shaw’s lips and shivering when Shaw nipped at it. “Come on, Sameen, where’s your Christmas spirit?” she winked.

Shaw huffed again but let Root pull her into her side and Root smiled, remembering a time years ago when she’d watched this same film in a similar position with another girl who’d meant almost as much to Samantha Groves as Shaw did to her.

But where Hanna and Sam had never gotten a chance to explore what could have been, Root knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she and Shaw had been granted an absolution that neither of them necessarily deserved but that would never be squandered anyway.

And as Root enjoyed her first Christmas in over twenty years that wasn’t spent alone, she found that she couldn’t stop smiling.

~FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought!


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